#thanks for sending this in !! it was fun to write :>

[russo-woso]

Can you write something about Aggie x reader after the conti cup final but reader plays for arsenal

No hard feelings? || Aggie Beever-Jones x reader

Masterlist

Summary You and Aggie have to deal with the aftermath of the final

A/N Just a short one 🫶🏻

You and Aggie had prepared for the day you had to come against each other in a final.

It had never happened before - although last years final was against Chelsea but Aggie was on loan at Everton.

You also weren’t dating at that point, just being friends who had grown up at England camps together.

It wasn’t until she moved back to London when you started becoming close friends - and then ultimately starting a relationship.

When you first got together, the idea of London derby’s against each other were hard to imagine.

But the day came and despite it being difficult, the live you felt for each other was so strong, it didn’t change anything, despite the scoreline.

This time around though, it was a final but yours and Aggie love is still as strong - maybe even stronger.

You didn’t speak to each other the morning of the final, both of you being in game mode.

Thankfully, Aggie only came on two minutes from the final whistle of extra time.

You though, had played the full 120 minutes, even assisting stina on the winning goal.

It was safe to say that you had played an incredible match.

When the final whistle blew, you hugged all your teammates before shaking hands with the Chelsea players.

You’d made the round, the only player you hadn’t spoke to was Aggie.

“I’m so sorry, Aggs.” You whispered, hugging her tightly.

“I’m so proud of you.” Aggie said back, pressing a light kiss to crook of your neck where her head was buried. “You played so well.”

“Thank you, baby.”

“You go celebrate. I’ll see you at home later.” Aggie told you, separating from the hug.

“See you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. Have fun, okay?”

“I will.” You smiled

“You won’t have as much fun as you will tonight when we get home.” Aggie smirked, sending a playful wink.

“Agnes!”

“What? I’m just gonna show you how proud I am.”

“Eww!” Niamh screeched as she overheard the comment.

“You’re just jealous, aren’t you, Niamhy?” You teased, the older girl being like a sister to you and Aggie.

“More like traumatized.”

“Piss off, will you?” Aggie said, pushing Niamh away. “See you later. Love you.”

With a final kiss, you walked towards your team who were mid celebrating whilst Aggie walked towards hers who were dull faced and miserable.

Despite the differences in moods though, the love you had for one another was strong enough to block any hard feelings.

[the-family-business-83]

Unexpected Calling – Part 2

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel

Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.

Type: Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet

Warnings: None for this chapter, it's really all fluff. Maybe a slight disclaimer about a lil kid interacting with a total stranger and some mom panic, but nothing bad happens!

Word count: 2.4k

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!

A/N: Trying to let myself just enjoy wirting and not overthink it all too much, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's a little bit of filler but I thought it was cute and it was fun to write. And yes, I know, it took forever to get posted. I had a lot going on, and I still may not be posting super frequently but to those of you who love this series so far, rest assured: I will still post, even if it's slow.

Any and all mistakes are my own as this chapter is unbeta'd, I did all my own editing/proofreading for this.

Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3

Transportation had really come a long way from what he'd been so used to when he was younger. There were planes that's the air of the skies with their quiet rumblings, helicopters that you could hear coming long before they appeared, and cars. Cars were so different these days, he'd gotten used to them but it just wasn't the same. Some part of him still couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of phones being able to connect to the car. And that was just one of many new upgrades.

But Bucky didn't take his trip by air, customs were a bitch to get through on a normal day let alone when he needed to bring weapons with him. He didn't take a train either, because–well. He'd had an uneasy feeling with them ever since 1944 when he fell down the mountainside. So, instead he went by cross-country bus, and kept to himself in his seat once he got on and found one near the back where it was mostly empty. Being perfectly on time, if not a little early, there were a fewhandfuls people that he watched enter in the time that he waited for the bus to start moving. His watchful eye kept them in sight here and there but for the most part, he simply pulled his dark red baseball cap down a little lower and looked out the window to help hide his face. He could only hope that when one passenger entered with not one, not two; but three small children, that they wouldn't be very loud.

Oh how very wrong he had been. Not even 20 minutes into the trip and two of the rugrats were already whining and fighting with each other. Bucky could only stare at them in distaste as he blinked at the sight, wondering how in the world such tiny things could make so much noise. Granted, he'd never really had to deal with children, not like this anyway. And they couldn't have been any older than 3 or 5, each of them. The oldest of the three seemed to be perfectly fine and well-occupied, thank heavens but that didn't make it any more desirable

Sucking a deep breath in, Bucky suppressed the urge to ask the clearly struggling mother to turn off the screeching, and pulled out a book from his day-pack, beginning to flip through it to find his spot. Maybe if he just pretended they weren't there, they would disappear from his mind.

Not likely, but the effort was still made as he focused on the pages of the small paperback copy of The Hobbit he'd brought with him. Glancing up when it once again wasn't working well, he was caught by surprise when suddenly the older child was standing right there by his seat row, and admittedly he tensed in reaction as a sort of mini-flinch. She hadn't said a word, he hadn't even heard her walking over. But there she was, standing with her stuffed bunny in her arms, simply staring at him while he did the same. Both were quiet for a long moment before Bucky glanced up the way towards where her mother sat with her brothers, clearing his throat. "Can I…help you?" He asked a bit awkwardly as he brought his furrowed-brow gaze back to the little girl. Once more, she didn't really say anything, instead just looking him over quietly. Then, she climbed herself up into the seat next to his since it was open, and Bucky was starting to wish he'd put one of his bags there. "Hey, look, kid- your mom- ….what are you doing?"

She shrugged as he stumbled his words out, and glanced down at her bunny fiddling with it a little as she got settled in the seat. "Too loud." Her answer came simply, and while it didn't answer his question completely, he definitely understood the feeling.

Sighing slightly, he glanced towards her troubled mother once more, and then back to bunny-girl. "...Alright, what's your name kid?"

"Mandy." She replied quietly, glancing up at him a moment later with big green eyes. "What's yours mister?"

"Bucky. My name's Bucky." The man paused for a moment then, almost as if debating whether he should send her back to her family yet or not, but she was calm and quiet, and wasn't harming anything. And it wasn't like he was going to let anything happen to a little kid, so he dismissed the idea for now and instead went back to his book.

It was a minute or so later that he felt the little girl–Mandy, he reminded himself silently–leaning over the arm rest between them slightly to see what he was reading. Brows knitting once again, Bucky glanced from the pages to the young girl, whose curly pigtails somewhat bounced in the way of his view of the words. His mouth parted a fraction, ready to let something slip off his tongue to tell her to sit back and let him read. But nothing came. He didn't know how to tell the girl to get out of his space without, well… being a dick. This was a *child* it would have been different had it been an adult. So instead he simply blinked at her in silence as he debated how to handle it.

Mandy seemed to sense he was looking at her though, because then she met his gaze and inched back into place in her seat, curling around her stuffed, yellow bunny, the apology clear in her demeanor. "I just wanted to see your story." She muttered out, albeit the words likely came out a tad muffled because her bunny's head was pressed against her mouth slightly.

Kids. There was something about them that just- got to him. Admittedly, maybe some part of him had a soft spot. One that he'd probably always had, an instinct he'd never been able to shake. And maybe there was something about that moment that reminded him of the slightly younger girl that he'd been on his way to help, that made him realize he was already traveling across the states to investigate the disappearance of some kid's mother. A small gesture really couldn't hurt him. He may not have said anything, but he did nod, and as he brought his crisp blue hues back to the book in his hands, he started reading the words out to her, quietly but still loud enough to be heard against her brothers' tantrums.

Whatever she'd been expecting, Mandy seemed delightfully surprised when he began reading to her, and her eyes lit up as she looked from him to the book, leaning over once again but this time while staying back more in her seat meaning her head rested against his arm lightly, so that he could still see but she couldn't help wanting to peek. There was something about how trusting she was, about how trusting kids often seemed to be, that just genuinely baffled him. Maybe it was because he'd been so jaded for so long that it was just a mind boggling concept to see such innocence. Or maybe it simply was a brilliant anomaly that children lacked the cynicism of their parents and the adults around them, that they saw things grown-ups didn't and thought of things that were unique to them.

Bucky didn't know when the crying and whining had stopped, but eventually the sun went down around them and it was dark in the bus, nothing but the glow-in-the-dark caution stickers and the light of the full moon to let him read the words on the pages. And just as he'd glanced over towards the little girl next to him, seeing that she was well on her way to passing out completely, he heard her mother patter over looking both exhausted and annoyed. "Mandy- for God's sake, you cannot-" only then did the woman seem to register that her daughter was half asleep, not really hearing her mother much and so all that Mandy gave in response was a tired hum as she nuzzled against Bucky's arm a little more.

Well, shit. He may not be experienced with children but he knew enough to know that if he moved she might wake up. And frankly he didn't even know if she'd let him move. Glancing up towards the mother, he offered an apologetic smile. "Didn't mean to scare you…she just kind of walked on over and climbed up. Seemed like you had your hands full so I hope it's okay I kept her busy for you?" He whispered to her, stopping her before she could rage at him–if that was what she'd been about to do, that is. She looked tired, and scared, understandably so. And most of all she looked ashamed that she hadn't even noticed her daughter leave.

"O-oh…thank you, I- I mean, I'm sorry if she caused you any trouble, I just- yeah…those boys…sorry they were so loud, they're in that phase…" she apologized sheepishly in hushed tones of her own, rubbing her palms against the fronts of her jeans as her gaze flicked between her daughter and the quiet stranger of a man. "I passed out and then I…I woke up and she was gone, I'm so sorry sir."

"Not a problem, honestly. She's pretty decent company, let me read in peace with her." Reading that nervousness on the woman’s features, he paused for a moment before shrugging his free shoulder up. "Don't sweat it, I shoulda sent her back…I was going to, believe me but uh. Well, at least now you get a break, right?" He tried to ease her nerves, but then glanced down towards Mandy. "I can carry her back to your seat if you'd like."

He was just so damned kind, she thought. A complete stranger and yet her daughter was clearly safe and well, asleep even and yes, now everything was quiet and she had some time to relax. It didn't stop her mom-dar from going off, but at the very least she'd be a fool to not appreciate his kindness. "No, no it's… it's okay, I don't want to wake her, she's a bit of a light sleeper…just uh, if she wakes up let me know. I'm Erin, by the way…in case that helps." This time it was her turn to offer a kind smile.

"Bucky. Nice to meet you…I'll keep it in mind, hopefully she lets you have a break though." He chuffed an amused breath out his nose.

Doing the same, she shook her head. "Yeah, if only. Thanks, again…I'll let you uh. Read in peace." She teased lightly, taking a hand back through her hair as she went back to her seat before the driver could reprimand her for standing up so long.

Smiling in amusement at that, he watched Erin go back to her sons, and in turn went back to his book after a moment. It was the small things, that made life easier. The small things were what really made things worth it. Sure, saving the world and saving people was big, and it was good. And it was worth it. But sometimes it was moments where he managed to do something more mundane, and helped someone else, that made all the other shit worth it. Because it meant he was still capable of being human.

———

By the time the sun was back up, Bucky rose with it, his eyes slowly opening to the light streaming through the window and he groaned quietly at the crick in his neck from how he'd slept. Running his flesh hand over his face groggily, as he glanced around he noticed that the warmth that had been leaned up against his arm the night day before was no longer there. He would have been concerned, thinking he'd now somehow lost some stranger's child, but he saw the pigtail-bearing girl peeking up over her seat at him a moment later, watching her smile appear once more as she gave him a little wave. Crisis averted. Not like there was anywhere she could really go on a bus, but still.

Despite still being a bit plagued by morning sleepiness, he smiled back and gave the girl a small wave of his own before watching her sink back into her seat properly. Probably at the urging of her mother. His sleepiness didn't last long, though, because soon those boys were back to making noise, but at least it wasn't as much of a headache as yesterday because it was merely them playing and babbling about random things. That was tolerable. And so he relaxed a bit more, rolling out his neck some before he picked up his book again and went on reading.

Somewhere along the way, the lone mother with her trio of children had reached their stop and were gathering their things to leave. It was Mandy who escaped her mother's sight once again to go see the kind man at the back of the bus who had read to her, bunny still in her arms but this time with a warm smile in place. "Hi Mr. Bucky! Mommy said I shouldn't bother you again… but I just wanted to say I liked your story and you're very nice." She didn't give him time to process all of that before she climbed up in the same seat as before, and kissed his cheek for a moment before hearing her mother call her name.

"You're welcome, Mandy. I think your mom needs you though, better get going." He encouraged even as he seemed surprised by her display of affectionate gratitude. The little girl wiggled back down from the seat then, but not without turning to wave at him, walking backwards to do so. "Bye Mr. Bucky!" She rushed the words out before running along to catch up to her mother. Watching her run along, he smiled at her little goodbye, and waved back at her as she went on her way. He wished that woman luck with her undoubtedly trouble-filled journey, honestly. Because he had his own coming up and somehow he felt like she was going to have it harder.

The rest of his ride went on rather uneventful, and when he arrived at his stop it was almost nighttime. But he was all the more closer to getting this job done, so saddling himself up with all his bags, he made his way into town and started heading for the address he'd gotten on the envelope.

Tags: @baw1066 @fluffydanger @vicmc624 @sjsmith56 @capswife @dispatchvampire @sofi1sstuff @sarbear94 @impeterporker @hhiggs @safiraish @kayden666 @saltedcoffeescotch @mcubuckyandsteve @thebuckybarnesvault @himikotoga

[hoiststowline]

Heloooooo

I see your reqs are open

I'd love to see reader using hotrod/rodimus as a heater and Roddy being like sorry I can't get up their asleep.

rodimus x reader

[a/n: hello!! & thank you, this was sm fun to write!]

He swears he has it down to a perfect science, but he’d rather keep that to himself than try to justify his second grade equation at best to Perceptor who rolled his eyes four times during the explanation. It benefits you first, the most important part- and at the very least the other two things that follow after are just collateral he was willing to accept.

Rodimus should not have access to the thermostat. That is evident when the temperature always seems to fluctuate dramatically about an hour before he’s needed to appear for something, whether it be a meeting or a routine sweep to ensure everything was in working order.

It’s always the thermostat right within your wing of the ship, locked but always broken into. The bottom button almost appears damaged, as if the offender had clicked it so many times it had begun to become worn-down and unusable.

As if on cue, roughly about fifteen minutes after the crime occurs, you’re shuffling into his room with a blanket wrapped around your shivering form. Rodimus can’t entirely feel the drastic change, he can sense it’s colder than normal, but the dipping temperature always sends you into an adorable pout.

“It’s broken again?” You murmur, each syllable accompanied by a visible breath. “That’s the third time this week,”

“I don’t think it was ever really fixed from last time,” It’s almost pitiful, the way he can’t even try to contain his smile. “Just got worse, I guess.”

He observes you, finding patience for about two seconds before he’s on his feet, being selfish for just another moment. He loves you, and wants nothing more in this instance than to give you undivided attention and sloppy kisses.

“What?” You ask, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “I came here to complain, I didn’t-“

But both he and you knew that was a lie. You’d walked perfectly into Rodimus’ trap, perhaps subconsciously seeking his warmth that you knew he radiated. The Prime was a walking heater, and he had ensured early on that you were well aware of it.

Somehow, he’d coaxed you to his side. You couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment exactly, but it was most likely when your hands began to tremble from the cold. No amount of blankets could save you, especially within a metal ship where every surface ran about thirty degrees cold on average.

Rodimus always says the same thing every time, about how you slot so perfectly between his shoulder and helm. The most important spot, where he can rub his cheek along your stomach and keep you safely positioned there with his right servo. It’s effective, as the first time you’d actually found his chassis ran so hot you almost couldn’t bear it.

“Don’t you have a meeting in like thirty minutes?” You mumble, impossibly tiny fingers tracing random lines along his helm.

“So you’ve got thirty minutes. Take it or leave it,” He’ll never let you leave, because he enjoys this far too much. Like he said, he’s helping to solve your immediate problem, but the bonus is that he gets this time with you, alone, and the small hiccup was just that.

It isn’t very long before you’re asleep, entirely still as your breathing evens out. It’s perfect, and how you haven’t caught on yet is a mystery for another time, though he has his own suspicions you’re far wiser to this than you display. It wouldn’t matter, even if he didn’t have to break the thermostat every other day or so, because it was all part of the fun.

Right on time, the door to his room slides over, and there stands a certain bot he’d been precariously avoiding. “You cannot be serious.” Magnus whispers, only being compliant because it was you, not so much for Rodimus’ sake. “This is the third time this week. You can’t get out of your responsibilities because you’ve tricked y/n into your schemes.”

“Sorry,” That ever sincere smile appears, gesturing to his company with a hushed tone. “Can’t do anything about it until they wake up. You’ll have to carry on without me,”

And like always, Magnus departs, mildly frustrated, but he can’t ever find the sense in waking you up. For a while, it keeps Rodimus appeased, and if he has to sacrifice some broken thermostats and delayed meetings to achieve it, then it’s worth it.

[thedissonantverses]

Hi other Veilguard lovers! I did delete the weird hostile anon I got(don’t worry I keep receipts) cause ya know we all don’t need to see that shit. I’ve been called worse and will be again probably I’m not shy about my opinions. It’s fun to dunk on weirdos but also eh? The vitriol to this game is disproportionate to what it is and I am going to combat that where I can but I am more interested in building up a fandom community that’s actually fun.

I do want to say that if a queer positive game with a diverse cast is making you so angry ya gotta call people names and go out of your way to fight them you should probably unpack that offline I don’t think social media is good for you. That’s not snark I mean it! Protect your mental health!

Anyways thank you to the friends I’ve made here and I’m looking forward to making more!! Gonna do that Rook Storytime Ask by the lovely @hyperions-light a lil later so if you want to send me more asks go for it!! Or if you wanna send me writing prompts in general I’m so down.

Keep an eye out for my writing challenge tomorrow and there’s a super special fan event coming up I cant properly announce just yet but if you’re a Davrin, Bellara, Taash, or Neve fan I think you’ll be very happy in the coming weeks! Let’s keep creating and keep our chins up!

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: hiii! i was wondering if you’d do a fic where sister gets taken by vamps and the brothers have to save her? and like the vamps had been feeding on her so she’s really weak but the places she’s been bitten would bother sam and dean cause of how close the vamps would have to be. just like the thoughts of someone putting their mouths on her makes them (especially dean) just livid. thanks for all the good work, i love your writings!!! xx

A/N: Thank you so much!!! This was such a GOOD request UGH and it was so fun to write. I hope I wrote it the way you were hoping! If not, send in another request. As always requests are open!! Please send whatever I love getting requests and seeing all the different ideas!! I have else nothing to do, but write so you’d be doing me a favor HAHAHA!

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

The night had a chill to it that seemed to sink into Dean’s bones. The kind of chill that made him feel like the world was off-kilter, like everything was about to fall apart. The Impala’s headlights cut through the darkness as they sped down the back roads, the tires humming against the asphalt. His grip on the steering wheel was iron-clad, his knuckles pale and bloodless, the tension in his shoulders coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.

Beside him, Sam sat silent, his face hard and unreadable. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle twitched in time with his breath. His fingers gripped his shotgun in his lap, tapping a rhythm that only they could understand.

She was missing.

Y/N.

Dean couldn’t think about it too much—couldn’t let himself go down that path. He had to focus. Focus on the road ahead, focus on the hunt. Vampires.

"Do you think they…" Sam started, voice low, laced with unease. He didn’t finish the thought, but Dean knew what he meant.

“Yeah. They’re feeding on her," Dean bit out, his voice tight with barely contained fury. "That’s what they do."

Sam didn’t respond at first and Dean could feel the weight of his gaze on him, his brother thinking, feeling everything he was. They both knew what it meant.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice was low, almost like he was afraid to break the fragile silence that was now upon them. But it wasn’t the silence that bothered him; it was the cold, sickening reality of what their sister could be going through.

“We’ll find her, Sam,” Dean muttered, his voice hoarse from holding everything back. Too much anger, too much fear, everything pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t bear. He couldn’t say more. The thought of Y/N—his sister—being in the hands of vampires, being dragged into the dark, fed on like some helpless animal, made his stomach turn. He didn’t want to think about it.

But he couldn’t stop himself. He had to think about it, because if he didn’t, it would tear him apart.

Sam glanced at Dean, his face pale in the dim light. “I know we will. But…” He trailed off, not needing to finish. He didn’t have to. The terror in his eyes said everything. What had the vampires done to her? What was left of her?

Dean’s grip tightened on the wheel. “We’re getting her back Sam even if it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.”

The abandoned warehouse was silent as the brothers approached. They could feel it before they saw it—the lingering stench of death, of blood soaked into the ground, making the air thick and suffocating. Dean’s heart hammered against his chest. He couldn’t think about what he would do to the monsters inside. He couldn’t think about the ways they would make them pay.

All he could think about was Y/N.

“Stay alert,” Sam muttered, his eyes scanning the surroundings, his hand resting on the gun at his side. Dean didn’t reply. His boots made a soft thud against the gravel, each step closer to the building feeling like it might break him.

When they entered, the darkness almost seemed alive, wrapping itself around them. The scent of old blood mixed with the coppery tang of fresh wounds, and Dean’s stomach twisted in on itself.

They moved in silence, their bodies trained to work as one, as brothers who knew exactly where the other was going before even a word was spoken. But this time… this time felt different. It felt too quiet. Too empty.

It wasn’t until they reached the back corner of the warehouse that they saw her.

Y/N.

She was slumped against a steel column, her body limp and lifeless, her skin pale and bloodied. Her clothes were torn, and her hair clung to her face in matted, sticky strands. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, it felt like his entire body stopped functioning. She was so small, so fragile-looking—like she could break beyond repair.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, but there was no hesitation. He rushed forward, his knees hitting the cold concrete as he dropped to her side. She was barely breathing, her body cold to the touch, and the stench of blood was overwhelming.

Sam’s eyes flickered over her body, his face twisting in pain as he crouched beside Dean. “What the hell did they do to her?”

But Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just touched her face, his hand trembling as he brushed a few strands of hair away from her forehead. Her skin was too cold, and her pulse was faint.

She blinked, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smile—there was no joy. Only exhaustion and the hollow echo of a person who had been drained to the point of breaking.

“Dean…” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, like it took all her strength just to speak. Her lips trembled, a faint, bloodstained line on the corner of her mouth.

“Y/N, hey, I’ve got you,” Dean muttered, his voice thick with panic. His hands hovered over her body, as if he didn’t know where to touch, how to make her feel safe again. The thought of the vampires’ mouths on her, of their fangs sinking into her tender skin, tore through him with the force of a storm. It made him sick to his stomach, made him feel like everything inside him was collapsing in on itself.

Sam’s voice was low but forceful. “We need to get her out of here, Dean. Now.”

Dean nodded, his arms sliding beneath her, lifting her as gently as he could, but she was so light in his arms it felt like she might break. Her head lolled against his chest, her breath shallow, and he couldn’t stop the way his heart clenched painfully in his chest. This was their fault. They should’ve been there sooner. They should’ve known.

“Y/N, come on. Stay with us. You’re gonna be okay. We’re getting you out of here,” Sam said, his voice rough, though he was trying so hard to keep it together for her.

But Y/N was barely responding now, her eyelids fluttering shut as if the weight of everything was finally catching up to her.

Then Dean saw it—the marks. The wounds that had been left on her by the vampires. The deep, jagged bites. His throat closed up. Sam was there, looking just as sickened. His face was pale as he inspected the wounds, his eyes shifting between them and their sister’s pale, unconscious face. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how vulnerable she had been, how helpless. The very idea of someone—anyone—touching her in such a way made him want to burn the world down.

The first mark was just beneath her ear, a perfect circle of puncture wounds that had broken her skin. It was raw, and the blood had dried in an ugly, dark stain against her skin. But what sent the blood rushing to Dean’s head was the thought of how close the vampire had been. He’d been right there, so close, his mouth brushing against her delicate skin. Dean could feel his insides twist. No one—not even the monsters they hunted—should have been able to get that close in that kind of way.

His eyes traveled lower, unwillingly, desperately, but they were drawn to the next wound: a bite mark on chest, that should have never been exposed in the first place. It wasn’t just the placement that sickened him; it was the idea of how intimate it had to be. How vulnerable she must have been, letting those monsters so close. Too close.

But what made Dean’s breath hitch was what came next. His eyes landed on her inner thighs. The tender skin there had been marred by deep, cruel bite marks. Multiple puncture wounds, side by side, right at the softest, and vulnerable parts of her body. He didn’t know why that broke him, but it did. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. The rage surged through him like a tidal wave, but it was suffocated by something deeper—something more violent and sickening. The thought of those vampires, of whoever had been so close to her, touching her like that—it filled him with a kind of fury that almost made him sick.

Sam’s hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him back from the edge of madness. Dean’s head snapped up to meet his eyes, and for a split second, he saw it—the same sick horror mirrored in his brother’s gaze. They both knew. They knew exactly what had happened. And the idea of it—the intimacy of it—twisted their stomachs into knots. The two brothers shared a look—one filled with shared understanding, shared rage. No one had the right to touch her like that. No one.

“Dean… we need to go,” Sam said, his voice low, desperate, but firm. He had to get his brother to focus. They had to get out of here.

Dean nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “We’re getting you out of here, Y/N. You’re gonna be okay. We’re not gonna let anyone hurt you again.”

As they carried her out of the warehouse, Dean could barely keep it together. His gaze was locked on Y/N the entire time, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest, the way her face was pinched with pain even in unconsciousness. Every minute that passed, every footstep, felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until they were in the car, driving—no, racing—toward the safety of the bunker that Dean finally allowed himself to speak again.

“God, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice barely above a rasp. His words felt inadequate, too small for the enormity of what had happened. What they’d let happen.

Sam’s voice was strained, but there was a quiet strength in it. “She’s gonna be okay, Dean. She’s gonna be alright.”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead, but in the back of his mind, all he could hear were the sounds of her pain, her fear, the whole way to the bunker.

The Impala screeched to a halt, the tires barely making contact with the gravel as Dean cut the engine. His heart was still hammering in his chest, but it felt like a distant echo in comparison to the devastation gnawing at him. Every part of him screamed to stay in the car, to never face the reality of what had happened to Y/N.

But she was still so fragile. So damn broken.

Sam moved quickly, sliding out of the passenger side and opening the back door to Y/N. He grabbed her gently, careful not to jostle her too much, his hands trembling as he lifted her into his arms. She was so light, too light, and every movement seemed to remind him of how close they’d come to losing her.

Inside the bunker, the cold, familiar stone walls that had once provided them with comfort now felt oppressive, suffocating. They had saved her, yes, but the fear that clung to her body was still raw. The thought of them—those monsters—doing this to her was enough to make his insides churn.

Dean led the way, opening the heavy steel door to the main room, and they crossed quickly to the table in the center of the room. Sam gently lowered her onto it, his hands shaking as he set her down. He lingered for just a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his eyes clouded with unshed tears and anger.

Y/N’s body was too still. Too pale. It was like she was half gone. Like she was fading.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, his voice breaking the haze of horror in Dean’s mind. Dean turned to see his brother standing by her side, pulling out the med kit with practiced efficiency, though his hands were anything but steady.

Sam’s gaze flickered to the marks on Y/N’s skin, the ones that had haunted both of them from the moment they saw them. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “We need to clean her up. She’s... she’s lost a lot of blood.”

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. He could hardly breathe, the thought of what had happened to her clogging his throat. His eyes stayed locked on her face, watching the rise and fall of her chest, counting the seconds like they were a countdown to something inevitable. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but the seconds dragged on, each one heavier than the last.

Sam worked quickly, but there was a tremor in his hands as he unwrapped Y/N’s shirt, revealing the bite marks that marred her skin. Dean couldn’t stop looking at them, even as every part of him wanted to turn away. They were everywhere—on her neck, her collarbone, and her inner thighs. They were deep, the kind of marks that only came from prolonged feeding, and every single one made his blood boil.

But Sam was already focused on cleaning up the wounds. He was gentle, methodical, but there was an underlying tension in his movements, as if he too was trying not to rip through the restraint he was clinging to.

“Y/N, it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re here,” Sam murmured, his voice low and soothing. His hands were shaking as he wiped away the dried blood from her body, but he spoke to her like she could hear him, like she might respond.

Dean stayed silent, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He couldn’t look away from her—not when she was like this, not when she needed them so badly. But he couldn’t feel anything. His chest was hollow, filled with too much rage and too much fear. He couldn’t even make his voice work.

And then, suddenly, a small movement—a soft groan from Y/N.

Dean’s heart lurched. He stepped forward, leaning over the table, his breath shaky. “Y/N? Hey, look at me. It’s Dean. You’re safe. You’re in the bunker, okay?”

Her eyes fluttered open, the faintest hint of recognition crossing her face. But it didn’t last long. She winced, her eyes darting around, panic creeping into her features as she tried to sit up. “No… no, please... let me go...” Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but the fear in it was palpable. She trembled, her body curling in on itself as if she could physically shield herself from something only she could see.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said gently, but there was a hard edge to his voice as he placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her back down. “It’s okay. It’s Sam. You’re safe. We’re not letting anyone hurt you.”

Y/N’s breathing was fast, shallow, her chest rising and falling with quick, panicked breaths. Her gaze flitted between Sam and Dean, confusion and terror in her eyes. She struggled weakly against Sam’s grip, but it was more out of instinct than any real strength.

Dean’s throat tightened, and he quickly crouched down beside her, taking her hand. His voice was raw, nearly breaking. “It’s okay, Y/N. We’re here. You’re not alone. Please—just breathe, okay? You’re safe now.”

Her eyes searched his face like she was looking for a lifeline, but then her gaze shifted downward, to the bloodstained marks on her skin. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she recoiled, her eyes filling with panic. She tried to curl in on herself, her voice trembling. “No... no, please... stop... don’t let them…”

“Y/N, they’re not here,” Sam said, his voice gentle but insistent. “We’re gonna clean you up. You’re safe. You’re gonna be okay. I need you to trust me, sweetheart.”

But Y/N shook her head, her eyes wide, filled with that deep, frantic panic that only someone who had been through hell could know. Her mouth opened, a strangled sob escaping as her hands clawed at the table beneath her, her body jerking with another memory.

Sam’s voice softened again, despite his own panic. “I know, Y/N. I know... but please, you have to trust me. You have to trust us.”

Dean stayed quiet, his hand hovering near hers, but he didn’t reach for her—not yet. Not until she was ready.

Her eyes flickered to his, and this time, they held something different—something less frantic, but still so broken.

“I’m here,” Dean whispered, his voice thick with emotion, unable to stop the ache in his chest. “We’re here. You’re not alone. You’re safe.”

Sam’s hands were working carefully, cleaning the wounds along her neck, his movements gentle but precise. “You’re in the bunker,” Sam continued, his voice firm but soothing. “We’ve got you. You’re safe here.” Her body began to relax as she came to her senses, but Dean had to ask. He had to know.

“Y/N... what happened? What did they do to you?”

She flinched, her eyes darting to him like a cornered animal. “I... I... I couldn’t...” Her voice broke, and she gasped for breath, her chest heaving. She looked lost—broken in a way Dean couldn’t put into words. His heart broke. He didn’t want to push her, but the need to understand what had happened to her was suffocating. He needed to know.

Her eyes filled with tears as she stared up at him, unable to meet his gaze. She trembled as if the very thought of it was too much for her to bear. She whispered in a barely audible voice, “They... they kept coming... kept feeding... kept—” She stopped herself, squeezing her eyes shut as though she could block out the images that haunted her.

Dean's gut twisted. He couldn’t even imagine what she’d been through. What she was reliving right now. “And then they…” Y/N shuddered violently, her body jerking in pain, and her eyes squeezed shut as if even remembering it was unbearable.

Sam paused in his movements, his hands hovering over her skin, but Dean could see the anguish in his eyes.

“They—” Y/N paused, her voice so small now it was barely a whisper. “They... took turns. They… they…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Dean’s stomach dropped. The weight of it, of her words, felt like a punch to the gut. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t. The idea of what they had done to her—using her like that—was enough to send him into a spiral of rage so consuming it threatened to swallow him whole.

Sam’s voice was soft, but urgent. “Y/N, you’re safe now. They’re gone. We’re here. We’re gonna take care of you. You don’t need to worry about them anymore.”

Sam’s hands moved once again, pressing a clean cloth gently to one of the marks on Y/N’s neck, wiping away the blood as she flinched. He spoke softly as he worked, his voice like a balm on her broken spirit, even if it didn’t heal the damage that had already been done. “You’re safe, Y/N. We’re gonna make sure no one ever touches you again.”

Slowly, painfully, they would help her get through this. She was still fragile, still scarred, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t fighting them.

[random-writer-23]

I have the constitution of a small Victorian child and humbly request a logan x reader, when he makes fun of their height and then they kick in him in the shins, then promptly regret kicking the metal bone man in the shins

Silly photo for a silly fic! This is just something silly and goofy! not to be taken seriously, pretty unedited, like I said it’s just a silly goofy little thing I wrote, made me giggle a little.

Also also, feed the machine your requests (it’s me I’m the machine)

Word count: 739 but was sooo tempted to write more, but I wanted to keep it short, and I kind of want to write more short things like this so send in your requests!!! I feel like writing short little things will help me not feel pressured to rush my bigger projects (everything I have atm is a bigger project) while also still giving you guys content y’know? Anyway that’s just a little thought I had.

Tw: none? like I said it's a short silly thing.

The X-mansion kitchen was usually the busiest room in the house, as one kitchen and tons of hungry mutants didn’t pair well, but I had mapped out the peak times the kitchen was in use and strategically avoided them. Which is why I now have the whole kitchen to myself. I hum along to the tune in my head as I make myself a sandwich.. I open the top cupboard frowning. 

“Who the hell put the peanut butter on the top shelf” I mutter hiking my leg up onto the counter to push myself up, stretching out my arm to grab the peanut butter. “These damn kids” I grumble grunting softly as I strain to reach up and grab the jar my fingers just barely missing it and I topple backwards off the counter letting out a loud oof as fall to the floor. I spring up from the ground brushing myself off and glancing around the empty kitchen sighing in relief that no one saw it. I frown at the peanut butter still perched on the top shelf of the cabinet, huffing. “Alright let’s try again” I huff, standing on my tiptoes reaching for the peanut butter again. I jump as someone clears their throat behind me. 

“Can’t reach sweetheart?” Logans gruff voice teases from behind me, I roll my eyes at his words. 

“I got it” I grumble, stretching my arm out to reach it. “Just shut up” I murmur gnawing on my lip as I hike my leg up on the counter pushing myself up again. 

“You’re gonna fall” Logan chuckles leaning on the island counter behind me. 

“Am not” I protest completely Ignoring the fact I had already fallen, I push myself up straining to reach the jar, gasping as my leg slips off the counter and I wobble falling backwards. Logan lunges forward arms outstretched to catch me. I look up at him, his face stretching into a smile. 

“Told ya” He chuckles and I roll my eyes as he sets me down. “Here let me get it for you, can’t have you falling for me again” He winks, laughing lightly at my unamused expression. He reaches up easily grabbing the jar from the top shelf. I reach forward to snatch it from his hand and he jolts away holding it out of reach. “Woah Darlin, where’s my thank you?” He chuckles, holding the jar out of my reach. 

“I would’ve gotten it myself… eventually” I mutter reaching for it again. 

“Yeah I’m sure you would’ve” He rolls his eyes, “here” he holds it out to me and I reach for it my eyebrows furrowing as he pulls it away at the last second. 

“Logan..” I say warningly. 

“C’mon take it” he smiles and I reach for it again only for him to pull it away from me again. 

“Logan!” I shout as he holds it high above his head. I jump up trying to grab it again, and it’s a swing and a miss. 

“Ooh almost got it” He teases, and I huff growing increasingly irritated. “Logan I’m going to throttle you” I hiss and he laughs. 

“Oh come on sweetheart… what? not tall enough?” He chuckles waving the jar above his head, and I grumble my hands clenching into fists at my side. “not tall enough? I’m tall enough to do this” I huff swinging my leg back giving him a solid kick in the shins. Instant regret fills my mind as my foot connects with the solid wall that is his calf. I pull my leg up holding my foot with a loud yelp of pain. “Fuck!” I yell, holding my injured foot, thats definitely going to hurt tomorrow. My face contorts into a scowl as Logan watches me laughing lightly. 

“Forgot I’m metal?” He chuckles.

“Forgot you’re metal....” I grumble sitting on the counter peeling off my sock to get a look at my injured foot. I groan as I catch sight of my toes red and throbbing with pain. Logans chuckles die out as he sees my foot. 

“Oh sweetheart…” he coos his face shifting to concern. “Alright, let’s get you fixed up…” He smiles, wrapping his arms under my legs and around my back picking me up. “Yeah that’s gonna bruise” He murmurs thoughtfully. 

“That's gonna bruise” I repeat mockingly crossing my arms across my chest in a pout, Logan just laughs giving my forehead a light kiss. 

[starmatzz]

𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐰/𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠

bf!wooyoung x gf!reader | bit of pray/hunter kink

author's note: hii! thank you so much for all the notes and support! although it's not entirely my cup of coffee to write "x reader" stuff, i see that you guys like it, which motivates me :)

“Alright, you go hide, and I’ll count,” Wooyoung said with a mischievous smirk.

It was a lazy Saturday, the kind of day spent either engrossed in your own hobbies or tangled up together on the couch watching movies.

That is, until Wooyoung came up with the bright idea to play hide and seek. At first, you rolled your eyes, playfully dismissing him, but how could you say no to your adorable boyfriend?

As soon as Wooyoung closed his eyes and started counting, you glanced around the apartment, determined to find the perfect hiding spot. There was no way you were going to let him win.

You quickly made your way to your shared bedroom, slipping inside the closet and crouching down. Carefully, you pulled the door almost shut, leaving a small gap just big enough for you to peek through. Your heart raced with excitement as you tried to steady your breathing, determined to stay hidden.

“Twenty eight..twenty nine..thirty! I’m coming!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out, teasing and full of excitement.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, finding the whole situation amusing. It was silly, but it was fun—exactly the kind of thing that made being with Wooyoung so special.

However, as you listened to his footsteps echo through the apartment, your heart began to beat faster. Each step felt closer, and the anticipation of being found was starting to get to you. You bit your lip, trying to keep completely silent, but you could already feel the tension building.

“Where are you? Come out~” Wooyoung’s playful, sing-song voice echoed through the apartment, sending a wave of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

His tone was teasing, almost mysterious, and you could tell he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as his footsteps grew louder, closer. It felt like your hiding spot was suddenly far too obvious, but you stayed completely still, determined to outlast him.

“My sweet doll… come out, I won’t bite~,” Wooyoung called out, his voice dripping with playful mischief.

Through the narrow gap in the closet door, you caught a glimpse of the bedroom door swinging open, reflected perfectly in the mirror across from you. Your breath hitched as you watched his figure step into the room.

“…Maybe,” he added with a sly chuckle, his footsteps slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He moved with a mix of confidence and playfulness, scanning the room as if savoring the chase. You pressed yourself further into the shadows, your pulse racing as you tried to keep perfectly still.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to steady your breathing as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Suddenly, the thought of him finding you sent a nervous thrill through your body—you didn’t want to be caught. Not yet.

The sound of Wooyoung whistling filled the room, a soft, haunting tune that only heightened the tension. It was as if he was toying with you, drawing out the suspense on purpose. His movements and the teasing sound of his whistle made it feel like he was closing in, and every second felt like an eternity.

Suddenly, Wooyoung’s whistling stopped, and the silence that followed felt deafening. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as you felt his gaze land on the closet—reflected in the mirror.

Your eyes widened in panic, watching as he turned to face the closet. A sly smirk tugged at his lips as he took slow steps toward it, like he already knew exactly where you were.

Your breath caught in your throat, every nerve in your body on edge as the gap in the door grew darker with each step he took.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if somehow that would make you invisible, shielding you from his inevitable discovery.

The silence was oppressive, stretching out endlessly as if time itself had stopped. You couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore, and the absence of sound was almost worse than hearing him approach.

All that filled the void was the frantic pounding of your own heartbeat, so loud in your ears that you were certain he could hear it too.

You were so lost in the stillness, so focused on calming your racing heartbeat, that you didn’t even notice the closet door creak open.

When you finally opened your eyes, there he was—Wooyoung standing in front of you with that signature smirk, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

“Found you, doll~,” he purred, his tone dripping with playful satisfaction.

Wooyoung’s hand gently gripped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes sparkled with mischief, his smirk only widening as he took in your expression.

“What am I gonna do with you now, hm?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence felt overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but feel a little breathless under the weight of his gaze.

You swallowed hard, the tension between you two thick in the air. Wooyoung leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Guess you’ll find out soon enough.” 

[lesbianherald]

the fact that you, creator of my favorite jayvik fic, is writing something medieval fantasy, my favorite genre, is sending me to a level of excitement that honestly shouldn't be possible, and somehow those snippets sent me to an even higher one. really really can't wait to read it and i love seeing all the little behind the scenes bits you post on here <3333

AHHHH!!! THANK YOU !!!! Oh my gosh this is so sweet.

I'm excited about it. Its been so fun to just conceive of and imagine and I'm using it very much as like a learning experience for me. I've always wanted to write fantasy but its so intimidating and hard to start. Doing it in fic form first feels like such good practice.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Also here’s a few more of the gift ones! I just think they’re neat :p I find it so fun to learn a bit more about how you feel about each of your stories!

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (for the chapter you’re currently most excited to share)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (for the story whose plot you’ve had the most fun figuring out)

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁 (for whichever story is calling you to write at this second)

I hope you have fun! And I know this is technically a rouge way of playing your make me write game, so if you’d rather I not send more of these ones in the future just let me know.

Thank you as always for sharing your amazing talent and the stories that bring me such joy!

- PCA <3

HI PCA! Doing this one first because matching the fic to your questions is so fun for me. I love this.

First 🎁: chapter I'm currently most excited to share - would be 🔼 because we're about to hit A POINT.

21 for 🔼:

---

“And, uh… And Jane. She… I mean, you’re doing such a good job, Shannon. She’s so beautiful.”

“Isn’t she?” Shannon chuckles. 

“It’s the same over a screen.”

“No,” Shannon says. “It never was.” 

Eddie sighs. “I really miss you.”

“You just saw me,” she teases, but he can hear that her heart isn’t really in it.

“Still,” he says. “I do.”

“I really miss you, too.” 

He smiles. “We’ll be back soon. For the veggies.”

“Can’t wait to up my salad intake.”

“Yeah, this is really for your health,” Eddie jokes. 

---

Second 🎁: story with the plot I had the most fun figuring out, I'm gonna have to say ⚡️, because it was like my ideal ending for them when I was watching season 6.

21 for ⚡️:

---

Buck knows the moment he sees Captain Bowman that there will be trouble today. It’s not going to come from him, but there will be trouble. For one, he never tried to make trouble when he was at the 114. Captain Bowman threw it at him. For another, he’s sure as shit not going to make today harder for Eddie. He’s so proud of Eddie. Running this call like he’s been doing it forever. Buck will sooner drown Bowman under his boot in this flooding than make Eddie’s job more difficult. 

It takes Captain Bowman a moment to see him. He exchanges a few words with Hen. Buck can see the smug, superior sort of look on his face. He thinks he’s better than Hen. Buck can tell. Well, of course he does. He thinks he’s better than everyone he encounters. After he’s done trying to condescend to Hen, he finally looks past her and looks at her team. 

They are, of course, still working. Trying to free a trapped couple in a flooding house. They can’t go in through the halls, and the room has no windows. A hastily constructed divider put up in one larger bedroom to rent it out for more money is the reason for that. Always such a pleasure when first responders get to bear the guilt of not saving someone in time because of shit like that. 

---

And for the third 🎁? What am I called to write? Of course🌲! So 21 for 🌲:

---

Her voice is like stone. Eddie hardly recognizes her. “You’re going to release Dad from this hypnosis right now. If you don’t, I will. What happens, happens.”

“Adriana,” Sophia pleads.

“Mmm, no,” Adriana says. “I’m sick of this game. This has been our whole lives. She doesn’t actually have any power over us anymore.”

“Just our father,” Eddie reminds her. 

“She won’t kill him,” Adriana says. 

“You don’t know that!” Sophia hisses.

Helena just stares her youngest daughter down, challenging her. Willing her to call her bluff. 

“Yeah, I do,” Adriana says. “Mom, have you ever killed anyone?”

“Of course not!” Helena snaps. “I kept myself under control.”

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[semperama]

AHHHHHH will you write me buddie for 56 "it brings out your eyes"????????? 😃😃😃

“It brings out your eyes.”

----

"Okay, which one?" Buck asks, holding up two different t-shirts, one sky blue and one salmon-y pink.

Eddie sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. He's been perched on the end of Buck's bed for what feels like an hour, watching him fuss with his hair and then rifle through his closet. "I don't know, Buck." He lets his gaze drift down Buck's body for what feels like the millionth time, trying to ignore the way it gets fractionally harder to breathe each time he does it. "The blue, I guess. It brings out your eyes."

Buck snorts. "I'm going to a club. No one'll be able to see what color my eyes are." He tilts his head to the side and grins. "Not that they'll be looking anyway."

"Oh my God." Eddie looks up at the ceiling and says a silent prayer for mercy. "This is why I told you I wouldn't be much help. What do I know about clubs?" Much less gay clubs.

"Come on, man." Buck tosses the salmon shirt down on the bed and starts peeling the blue one off the hanger. "I'm freaking out, okay? Are you sure you can't come with me?"

Can't? Maybe that was a lie. With Chris gone, he has no good excuse to stay home these days. But the last thing he needs is to watch Buck get hit on by random strangers--especially not if alcohol is going to be involved. He wouldn't even have come over to help Buck get ready if he hadn't begged him. It'll be the first time I've gone out since me and Tommy broke up, Eddie. I could really use a pep talk.

"I don't even understand why you have to go," Eddie says. He watches Buck pull on the shirt, tries not to linger too long on how it stretches around his biceps, over his chest. "Is this really a good way to meet guys? At your age?"

Buck gasps with exaggerated affront. "At my age?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. "Last time we went out with Hen and Karen you puked in my front lawn and then complained about your hangover for two days."

"I did a bad job pacing myself that night," Buck says, his mouth twisted into what could almost be a pout. "Karen holds her alcohol better than I do. And anyway, they're older than us, so if they can go out--"

"They go out like twice a year. Together. As a couple. Not to meet people."

Buck's expression darkens. "Yeah, well. I'm not part of a couple, so." Okay. So Eddie fucked up with that one. He sighs, but before he can apologize, Buck spreads his arms out and swivels his torso a little. "Just...how do I look?"

He looks good enough to fucking eat, of course. The shirt hugs him in all the right places. His jeans make his ass look great. He must have found some new product for his hair, because his curls are perfect and soft-looking, begging to be touched. Eddie wants to drag him in by the belt loops and beg him to stay.

"You look great, Buck," he says quietly. Because Buck asked him for a pep talk, and so far he's failed the assignment. The least he can do is try to turn it around. The least he can do is be a good friend, not a selfish, jealous asshole. "Seriously, you're going to have guys falling at your feet."

The smile that creeps its way across Buck's face make it all worth it. He ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders up, and Eddie is stabbed by a longing so intense he's halfway to his feet before he realizes what he's doing and stops himself.

"I'll let you get going then," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets do he doesn't give in to the temptation to touch. "Let me know how it goes?"

"Yeah," Buck says. His gaze is searching Eddie's face. For what, Eddie doesn't know. "Yeah, of course."

Eddie makes it to the door, breath painful and ragged in his chest, before he hears Buck's feet pounding down the stairs behind him. He turns to look, to ask if there was something else, but he barely opens his mouth before Buck is there, one hand on Eddie's neck, the other wrapping around his waist, pulling him in so close it knocks the air out of his lungs.

Then, Buck is kissing him. Desperate press of lips, tongue licking into Eddie's shocked mouth. It's an electric shock, white heat spreading through him, painfully good.

But then as soon as it started, it's over, and Buck is staring at him, wide-eyed. Eddie wants to dive into that blue gaze and drown there.

"I'm sorry," Buck says. "I just--I had to try. I had to know, before I--"

"Buck." His fingers are curled in the back of Buck's shirt, and he curls them tighter, presses Buck closer. "Don't go," he says. "Stay here. With me."

"Okay," Buck says breathlessly. He looks like he has no idea what's happening, and Eddie knows the feeling, but they can talk later, figure it all out later.

"Good," Eddie says, and pushes his fingers into Buck's hair, pulls their mouths together again.

[tunastime]

for the comfort prompts, draping a blanket over a sleeping body ^-^ maybe with 2 of our sweetest boys.... xisuma and doc ^-^ OR also maybe with ranchers ^-^

draping a blanket over their sleeping body (923 words) (x)

Xisuma scrubs his eyes. 

There comes a point in every shift that his body starts to give out. A point where, no matter the length of the shift, or how much he'd eaten, or slept, or drank tea, Xisuma felt his body slip away from him and the dull ache of sleep start to root and take hold behind his eyes. It's at this point where respite usually comes, in the form of Cleo or Doc walking through the door. And eventually it will be Cleo, he knows, because Doc's shift neatly aligned with his tonight. So much so he was able to actually get dinner at the same time as him, and Doc was able to kick him under the table over a cup of coffee. The jerk. 

Regardless, he could expect Cleo to wander in when she wished. Joints starting to protest weakly under the stretches he contorts his spine into, Xisuma gathers his belongings, and starts the trek down the levels toward his room.

It's a quiet walk—one he's learned to catalogue his thoughts to, to enjoy as much as the daily chatter of a morning shift beginning, or an afternoon shift ending. This early morning closure means that he'll have the good part of the day to sleep before he's on for another 48 hours. It also means that, for just a few of those hours, he might get to sleep next to his partner, after a few too many nights of just-barely's and near-misses. Xisuma sighs. For a moment, he lingers in the hall, peeking out at the rest of the station through a long, double-paned window, spanning the length of the propelled walkway. As he steps on, leans against the barrier, he watches stars flick idly past him alongside the sprawl of Prometheus. At its heart, where he was headed down to now, were the quarters. And his, along with a select few, got their own atrium view.  

The rest of the walk is similarly quiet, Xisuma's feet working on autopilot as his mind wanders from task to task, correspondence, to shipping requests, to diplomatic communique. He frowns, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits a beat for the elevator. There had been a recent communique from the Coalition. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened in, what, two or three years now? Certainly enough time to have forgotten the last time he saw any of the crew on an official basis and certainly long enough to forget just what that little check-up meant. He holds back a particularly violent shiver. It's nothing this time—has to be. Prometheus hadn't done anything new or interesting in months, let alone enough to warrant an investigation. If the Interspace Investigation Coalition needed something from Xisuma, Admiral Void, it was going to take a very special visit and a lot of convincing. Not words on a screen.

By the time the thought passes through his mind, Xisuma is already at his front door. He shakes away the feeling crawling up the base of his spine and taps his keycard, door sliding open at his behest. 

"Doc?" he calls, as he enters. "I'm home."

The front entry is still warmly lit as he toes off his shoes and organizes his coat and bag at the front door. The living room is dark, aside from the faint glow of blue light, as are the desks they share and the kitchenette. Xisuma hums, frown deepening. He makes his way into the living room as he starts unclasping his overcoat, hands fiddling with the zipper behind him.

There, sprawled haphazardly on their small sofa, is Doc. One of his legs bends under the other, his ankle propped on the arm of the couch, socked foot hanging just over the edge. His pajamas are ruffled from moving, rucked up over one side of his ribs where his arm stretches to cover his eyes from the dim, ambient light. Xisuma stifles a snort that then catches the back of his throat. He looks comfortable. To an extent. Enough to fall asleep, at least, and enough to stay that way, even as Xisuma had called out to him and noisily shuffled in. 

X crosses his arms. He has but two options: one which requires him to deal with a sleep-disoriented, disgruntled Doc M now. The other: listening to him complain about tight muscles as he slipped into bed later that morning, seeking out the shape of Xisuma he missed. On one hand, X would get his partner's warmth and weight and grumbled words sooner. On the other... he looks so dang peaceful he'd almost feel bad disturbing him. Xisuma smiles to himself—the image alone of Doc crawling into bed next to him and letting X curl tiredly around him seems wildly comforting. A little selfish, but, really, who could blame him? 

Quietly, Xisuma shuffles over. He lifts the blanket from the back of the couch, ruffling it lightly in his hands as he sets it over Doc's sleeping form the best he can. Shrouded by the multicolored fabric, Doc seems to shrink, just a bit. Clearly cozy and comfortable, his face remains soft, sleep smoothing out the lines of stress on his face. X tucks the blanket carefully around his partner, careful not to jostle him awake as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Upon drawing back, Doc doesn't seem to stir, and Xisuma hums his thanks to no one. He steps back, satisfied with his work, and shuffles off to bed.

[thedissonantverses]

Cute headcanon for you to angst - Lucanis and Bellara taste test new recipes together when Bellara is up late working and Lucanis is being Lucanis. It's Lucanis' way of giving her a friend's company without understanding anything about what she's doing, and Bellara's happy to have his input on both her work and her recipes.

Alright I think this is the last one I have of these(But if people want to send me more I never put time limits on my writing challenges and these are really fun for me thanks for playing! I decided to write this one from Bellara's pov since I haven't tried doing that yet(And I'm sorry? But not really?):

Bellara thought she'd put Cyrian to rest. She'd worked so hard the first time. She'd thrown herself into work. She'd let him go. She carried those golden memories she had as a light, holding them close when she was lost in the trees for weeks at a time. She'd been alone. Even surrounded by other Veil Jumpers. But her little brother had helped her get this far, and she would carry him and their people sitll father. She could do that, for him. For both of them. She'd been at peace.

So why couldn't she let his ghost go this time? Why was it so hard, when she'd guided him into death herself?

The others tried. Neve gave her her notes on the new chapter with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Davrin had only looked at her and opened up his arms with a smile, hugging her as long as she'd needed. Even then, she hadn't been able to talk, though she sense he was willing. Taash and Harding had tried talking to her into going for a walk but she just so....tired. Emmrich attempted to entice her with a new treatise on areas the Fade could be provably shown to be thinning but also thickening around Arlathan. Normally she'd have run with the implications but now there was only this gray haze to contend with.

It got to where she didn't get off her cot. She tried. But her heart was heavy and her head hurt and she just couldn't. Even when Rook came to check on her, she just turned away to stare blankly at the wall. She didn't understand this. She hadn't had an episode like this since long before Cyrian had died the first time.

It was, of all things, the squash that did it. The scent of the spices her grandmother had used wafted through from the kitchen, through her open window. She closed her eyes and thought of the harvest days, when she'd fall into bed exhausted but full and happy, her and Cryian having eaten their weight in stuffed squash and their mother had tucked them in, safe and sound from the dangers of the world outside. Lucanis' doing. He'd remembered.

The tears fell then. Hot and heavy. The grey evaporated, replaced by pain so raw it threatened to split her apart entirely. But she'd take, it over the nothing.

[cursedzucchini]

Prompt/idea #6

Y'all what if when Danny's not feeling that good (is very injured/didn't eat anything/sleep deprived) he instead of fainting just... Turns into his 14 yo self.

That wasn't such a problem at the begginjng bc he was short king and well, he didn't change that much.

But now? When he's in college (basically always on the verge of fainting from exhaustion/hunger/dehydration/whatever unholy thing he consumed to stay awake and functioning) in Gotham? When he's 24, and yeah, maybe he didn't grow that much in height, but he lost the baby fat. His face didn't look so hopeful, and innocent and he gained quite few scars.

So yeah, changing into his 14yo self wasn't the greatest by itself. But add the trauma Danny has when looking at himself in the mirror, and overall being in the wrong body (thinking about what younger him didn't know, like u can add angst Abt canon stuff, like Vlad was a fucking creep, pariah dark, or add vivisection and Dani dying or whatever).

So Danny was being extra careful about taking care of himself (he thought, like a liar). And maybe that day he forgot breakfast, lost his pocket money, his card declined, he couldn't sleep because of reccuring nightmares and the only edible (that's questionable tho) thing in his bag was some somehow wrong ectoplasm he stole from some guy few weeks ago (and Danny needed to ask the him where tf did he manage to find such a disgusting ecto. Like not even his parents manage to fuck it up that badly).

So when on his way home, some fucking asshole jumped him, of course he was going to freak the fuck out.

...if knocking the guy out counts as freaking out. And showing some of his more ghostly features out (read show the asshole the indescribable horrors of balancing life and death for eternity and no time at all).

And that somehow tipped Danny over the top. So now he's sitting there, in his now way too big clothes next to the knocked out (hopefully) clown, drawing dumb pictures on his face, waiting for Jazz to pick him up and maybe help him dispose of the body.

(bonus points if the batfam saw this go down and are now so fucking confused how tf did some twink™ knocked out the fucking joker in one punch, and than transformed into a fuckibg child????? B, no, put the adoption papers down-!)

(bonus bonus points if 14 yo Danny looks exactly like 14yo Jason, and they (especially Jason) just see young Jason sitting next to dead? Joker w a crowbar, drawing dicks on his face)

(also the reason why Danny doesn't know who joker is, is bc every time someone started talking Abt joker or the clown he assumed he was something like batman, and wasn't interested in learning anything Abt anything clown themed)

[abyssal-author-and-artist]

oh shit i just realized i forgot to post the trans dipper essay

oh well, better late than never!

Introducing - Why Mason "Dipper" Pines is Trans and Why that Matters - an essay I spent more time on than I did my actual college project today

Mason "Dipper" Pines from Gravity Falls is trans. Trans masculine, to be specific. Do I believe this was intentional? No. Do I believe that there's a seriously convincing case to be made? Fuck yes.

So first off, he's just like me frfr, which is pretty compelling in and of itself. But that's not enough for a whole essay, so we move onto our second point - character designs. Dipper is designed like, well, like every modern-era trans man I've ever drawn who isn't goth. The shorts, the one shirt in the one color, the absolute insecurity. He even does the hunch of the back! Also, I think I heard somewhere that the vest is to make his shoulders look broader, which I'm not entirely sure is canon but I am accepting this whole-heartedly. It's such a trans move of him. He's too young (and it's summer so it's too hot) to wear a dysphoria hoodie so he picked a vest. (I say too young because dysphoria hoodies usually cover your chest and Dipper and Mabel probably haven't hit puberty.)

The second part comes directly from science. According to this article, and many others, sex in identical twins is complicated, but most identical twins will be born the same sex. There are cases where this isn't true (which might be the case for Mabel and Dipper) or they might be fraternal, which is also pretty likely. However, looking at them when they were younger (and listening to their very similar voices), it's likely they were identical and both girls. That's not to say I dislike trans Mabel - every trans woman I draw dresses like her, so I do love her being trans as well and them hitting the age of like. 10. and swapping genders is incredibly funny and adorable to me.

So, we can't reliably use the aforementioned evidence, then, can we? After all, identical twins can be different sexes, although rare, and we don't have any proof they are identical beyond their visual (and when they were younger, audible) similarities. Well, first off, I'd say that's pretty compelling evidence already. In a cartoon, especially one as detailed and beautiful-looking as Gravity Falls (the art is good and I will die on this hill), visual language makes up for a lot. And Alex Hirsh has gone on record saying that he very much wanted Jason Ritter and Kristen Schaal for Dipper and Mabel respectively, to the point where he would have canceled the show if Kristen hadn't signed on, so I wholeheartedly believe every character (with the exception of Grenda and any other characters who had last minute va's picked) had their voice actors picked very specifically. I can't find whether Jason Ritter voiced younger Dipper, though, so that's a dead end.

Now, that's all well and good, but it's a lot of visual language, isn't it? Why don't we move into something more based in the writing itself?

So the first and most prominent example of Dipper being transgender is the episode Dipper vs Manliness. You know it, you probably have emotions on it, it's the episode where Dipper is trying his hardest to be a man's man. The episode was supposed to be about toxic masculinity and how to be a real man is to stick to your morals. It's a good lesson and in my opinion, holds up even in 2024. Pretty good. Does a great job of what it wants to do. Now, Dipper vs. Manliness has been dissected to hell and back already as a transgender allegory, so I'll keep this brief: the episode centers around Dipper being mocked for not being manly. While Mabel and Stan still see him as a man, albeit an effeminate one, it gets to Dipper. He proceeds to do anything to prove himself a real man. If viewed as a trans allegory, Mabel is teasing her brother and not realizing how deeply it actually hurts him (whether accidentally because she fails to realize how insecure he is over it or because she hasn't been there before, depending on how you want to headcanon it). As for Stan, I like to pretend he's supportive but regularly forgets Dipper was ever a girl, so he makes a serious slip up because of that (and/or he's regurgitating stuff said to him. That hits harder if you also headcanon trans Stan, which I am warming up to). Dipper proceeds to try and prove himself a man, crying when he takes even one more blow to his self esteem/sense of identity as a man, and eventually gets comfort from his family when they realize just how BADLY they messed him up. He is affirmed as a man and the episode ends. Everything that can be said, has been said - including that you don't have to act toxically masculine - or even masculine at all - to be a real man. Remember this part, it will be important later.

So, other trans moments for Dipper come a little sparser. Dipper vs. Manliness is the example for a good reason. But still, there's other moments. The short Voice Over from one of the short story compliation episodes is another one that's commonly referenced as a metaphor for voice dysphoria. Yes, Dipper's voice is cracking in ways common for a cis pre-teen boy his age, but the pitch and tone of his voice can also be seen as his more feminine voice peeking through. Taking the potion can be seen as taking testosterone or other hormones. Granted, this falls apart when you consider that Dipper is later discouraged from taking the potion, because that could be read as Dipper being discouraged from transitioning, but on the other side of the spectrum, it could be read as Dipper being affirmed as a real man despite his voice. From that perspective, his family prevents him from taking (possibly dangerous) homebrewed hrt. Also, the euphoria he gets when it does change his voice is just. Absolutely adorable.

Now, my favorite resource for Dipper acting trans is in the episode Headhunters. He's asking Manly Dan questions and Manly Dan calls Dipper a girl. And MAN the discomfort on Dipper's face. He immediately attempts to correct Manly Dan, but is shut down and the episode moves on. I think that for such a short moment, it does a good job of making Dipper seem trans, though. He is called a girl and feels extreme discomfort around it. He does not like being called a girl. He is not a girl. But he's not shocked or surprised or even really offended - he's resigned. He's used to being called a girl. Sure, he hates it, but he doesn't cry or scream or anything. Sounds to me like a trans man who's absurdly used to being misgendered but still hates it. That pain never goes away, but sometimes all you can do is flinch in discomfort, try to correct and move on, like the episode does.

For a (mostly humorous) video of more of Dipper acting trans, check out this video.

So I think we've made a pretty compelling point for Dipper Pines being trans masc here. Looks pretty good, yup, this is a great essay, let's wrap it up. Oh? What's that? The name of this essay?

Why Mason "Dipper" Pines is transgender and why that matters.

Well, let's dive into section two of this essay - why does Dipper being trans matter?

Someone could easily say it doesn't matter. Just fun fandom headcanons, that's it, wrap it up now. Nothing more to say. Dipper is trans and that's just a fun reading of his character.

But I don't think that's the case. I think that Dipper being trans means so much - to trans fans of the show, to fans who have never seen or spoken to trans people before, and to queer fans of Gravity Falls and similar shows. (I personally am a Steven Universe fan who really valued the representation there, so Gravity Falls and all it's queer coding means a lot to me.)

First and foremost, I'm not going to keep you in the dark as to why you're remembering my earlier point. As a recap, it was this: Dipper vs. Manliness, and by proxy, Gravity Falls as a whole, says that you don't have to be traditionally masculine to be a real man. For a show that spends a lot of time mocking a kid commonly headcanoned to be a trans man, that says a lot, and a lot of stuff I think more people need to hear.

You do not need to act like your gender to be your gender.

You do not need to present like your gender to be your gender.

You do not need to fit some rigid box that society enforces to be who you are.

If you are a man, you are a man, trans or cis, regardless of how you act. (And the same goes for women and nonbinary people! You don't have to fit a mold.)

You don't owe anyone anything.

You don't owe people masculinity. (Or femininity or androgyny for that matter.)

I think that's part of the reason Dipper vs. Manliness ages so well. Dipper reads as trans, especially to queer fans, and his story in that episode tells us that we don't have to be someone we're not for people to take us seriously as who we are. At the end of the day, the really masculine thing is staying true to you - a sentiment echoed and reversed in The Last Mabelcorn, where the most feminine thing you can do is to stay true to yourself. I can't find it right now, but I could swear that there's a That GF Fan video explaining my point a little better. The point is, there's nothing that makes you more of whatever your gender is than staying true to yourself.

Additionally, if Dipper really is trans and someone sees themself in him, that can help them explore their gender or explain it to other people. Young kids who have never interacted with trans people before can see Dipper and grow up to connect the dots - or grow up to have him crack their eggs.

I know I'm new to the fandom and I was already out before watching the show, but he really helped me explore my gender. I like dressing like him - he's very relatable, even though I'm old enough to be in college now. I see him as a very anxious, slightly paranoid trans kid, and I see a lot of myself in him. He has a lot of issues, and a lot of issues that aren't trans specific but definitely hit harder when you are trans. He makes me feel seen on a level that I never thought a cartoon character could do.

Honestly, here would be a good place to put a rant about representation in kids media - queer kids under the age of 12 exist and struggle. I liked a girl (before realizing I was trans) in fifth grade, so about 9 years old. There are kids who experiment with their gender when they're younger than that. We're here and we exist, and every single time a character in children's media is made and is prevalent, another kid is able to really see themself.

That's really the point of this section. Dipper is trans. That matters. People - mostly queer kids but people of all ages - see themselves in him. He's here and we see him as queer because it's validating. It feels so good to hear Stan affirm him at the end of Dipper vs. Manliness, because it proves that at the end of the day, you don't need to present as super masc or femme or androgynous to be who you are.

Gravity Falls, through coding Dipper as trans, sent a message:

You are seen. You are loved. You are valid.

Thank you for reading this all. Trans Dipper means a lot to me, and I love writing him and seeing him in general. I want more of him because Dipper being trans means the world to me.

I love you all. Have a wonderful day. Remember to stay true to yourself.